


About to be mine

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Trucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29786112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock tilted his head to look at him and Jack was hooked immediately. It was a startling feeling, sudden and abrupt. He wanted this man to be his.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	About to be mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



Jack looked up from his beer as a new truck drove into the clearing where the tailgate party was taking place. It was a lifted black RAM, the back window was an American flag perforated decal, and it had a gun rack and an oval bumper sticker that read USA. It backed into place and Jack turned to Bucky. “Who’s that?” 

Bucky was manning their grill, the cooler open with PBR tall boys on ice. The man’s shoulder length hair was messed up from crawling under sinks all day and he’d yet to find the time or motivation to fix it. His boyfriend, Steve was rummaging through for water though the blond paused at the sound of the new truck. “I dunno,” Bucky shrugged his shoulders and flipped a burger. “These are almost done, get a plate ready.” 

Every few trucks had their own grills going, celebrating Friday night. A bonfire was going in the center of the clearing and a few girls were hanging around it roasting marshmallows. Tailgating was about as exciting as Little Creek got. The truck was newer than Jack’s sun faded Silverado that was currently parked beside Bucky’s F350. Steve hopped onto the tailgate and cracked the top off of the grocery store branded bottled water and took a drink. The door popped open across the clearing and a man slid out of the cab. He was clad in a flannel shirt to ward off the autumnal chill and worn blue jeans with tan work boots. Jack was about to ask Natasha if she knew him but she was already starting across the road, White Claw in hand. 

“Nat knows him apparently,” Bucky said as he took the burgers off the grill. 

Clint, drawn by the food fresh off the heat approached. “It’s Brock. You don’t know Brock?” 

“If I knew Brock I wouldn’t be asking about him,” Jack reminded him. 

“Oh, right.” 

“So, what’s his deal?” It wasn’t every day someone new came to Little Creek and Jack’s interest had been caught. 

Across the clearing Natasha was hugging him. Clint didn’t seem to mind another man holding his girl, too distracted by reading a bun for his burger. “Uh he moved here a few weeks ago. Delivers for Suburban.” 

Propane delivery. Interesting. Natasha and Brock were heading towards them and Jack was momentarily panicked, holding his beer close as though it would protect him from this interaction. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous to meet him, he chalked it up to how unusual it was. As he got closer, however, Jack began to notice other things about him. His sharp jawline, his heartbreaking honey colored eyes, his sturdy, muscular build. He was shorter than Jack by a head but Jack didn’t mind. He didn’t seem worried in the slightest to be meeting new people. 

“This is Brock Rumlow,” Natasha announced. 

The redhead had her hair pulled out of her face, still in her lumber yard work shirt speckled with sawdust. Brock looked much more put together than the rest of them that had come from work to the supermarket, to the party. “Nice to meet you.” 

Jack offered his hand because everyone else was otherwise encumbered. “I’m Jack Rollins.” 

Brock tilted his head to look at him and Jack was hooked immediately. It was a startling feeling, sudden and abrupt. He wanted this man to be his. It was ridiculous sentiment -- even if this man was gay there was no saying he would be interested in Jack who wasn’t nearly as handsome as he was. Brock took his hand, a firm handshake, and Clint finally juggled his plate around to grab his hand. “Hey man, long time no see.” 

Jack was surprised to know that they knew him so well. Jack hadn’t seen hide or hair of him at the garage so he couldn’t have been around too long. A rig like his would need careful upkeep. “Working. It’s getting cold, folks are gonna need heat. Mind if I grab a beer?” He wasn’t sure who they belonged to so he swept a wide look around. 

“Go for it,” Bucky said, grabbing a tall boy and tossing it to him. 

Brock caught it and cracked it open, slurping up the foam before he turned his attention to Natasha. “This old bitch tried to get a discount because I was twenty minutes late ‘cos I got caught up after my fuckin’ hose got stuck.” 

“Aww, don’t like to be yelled at?” Clint taunted. 

Brock flipped him off. Jack decided he was in love. “I don’t like bullshit,” he corrected. 

“You can say that again.” Clint said with a sigh. “When we’re outta stuff at the store I swear only the worst people come out of the woodwork just to complain.” 

He was the daytime assistant manager at the supermarket so Jack was sure he got his fair share of flack. Jack was lucky that his usuals were good spirited and friendly. Of course there was the occasional person who felt they were being overcharged but Jack always welcomed them to shop around. They always came back. He knew he should say something, get to know this Brock a bit better, but all of sudden he wasn’t sure he knew how to speak to another human being. He always clammed up when it came to flirting but it wasn’t never as bad as it felt currently. Maybe it was because of how badly he wanted to speak to him. Standing there silently nursing on a beer was pure torture. 

Dusk started to fall and people migrated towards the fire. Bucky and Brock were joking around about his ventures as a plumber and Jack learned that Brock was building his home here in Little Creek which was how he’d found his way to New England from Brooklyn. He expressed that the air was cleaner. Jack had only visited New York City once as a child on a school trip and he agreed. He was thankful he could get to know the auburn haired man even if it was indirectly. He finished his beer and tossed it into the plastic bag serving as a trash bin, and took a bite out of his burger, now cold but not unpleasant. 

“What about you?” 

Jack almost choked as those honey eyes turned on him. Jack found he couldn’t look into them without his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He focused on his mouth. “What about me?” 

“What do you do? It’s Jack, right?” 

“Yeah it’s Jack. I’m a mechanic.” 

“Oh great! I’m gonna need one of those,” Brock nodded towards his truck. “That’s my baby girl right there.” 

“It’s one hell of a truck,” Jack agreed. He could talk trucks. That was easy. “Diesel?” 

“Of course.” 

“Three inches?” 

“Four,” Brock replied, clearly proud. 

Jack whistled. “Nice.” 

“I know she is.” 

Was the fact he identified his truck as a girl an indication that he was straight? Jack wished he didn’t have to overthink this. He wished his interest in Brock was pure and harmless. But, no, it was venal. There was so much more he wanted to know about the man but he didn’t know how to ask. However now that he was speaking he found the words were coming far quicker than they had previously. 

“So you’re building a house, huh?” 

“Yup. Up on Copperhead.” 

“That’s a good spot. Good for hunting.” 

“I’m on ten acres so if you ever wanna hunt on it, just let me know.” 

And he was kind too. This man was going to be the death of him. He would covet whoever it was that would claim this man as theirs…assuming no one had yet. New panic mounting he tapped his long fingers against the can and asked, “You building that house with anyone?” 

“Just me, myself and I.” Brock didn’t seem particularly saddened by that. But he was at the perfect age to be enjoying the freedom of being a bachelor. “Why, you like what you see?” 

Had Jack been drinking he would have spat it out in sheer shock. “What?” he asked, alarmed. 

“Nat was trying to set me up with you,” he explained and Jack’s stomach sunk. “I wasn’t interested. But now I”m second guessing myself.” 

Jack’s brows furrowed together. “You are?” 

“Called it,” Natasha sighed, leaning against Clint who was on his third hamburger. “I told he’s perfect for you.” 

Shadows were creeping in from the treeline and the sky was painted in pink and orange in great brush strokes as the sun sunk behind purple mountains. “What do you think?” Brock asked boldly, looking at him. 

He was fearless, yet another trait that Jack found especially endearing. The man was intoxicating to be around. “I think I’d like to have dinner with you.” 

“I think I’d like that. Your place tomorrow night, I’ll cook.” Brock offered. 

“That sounds good.” Jack smiled hesitantly, wanting to pinch himself to ensure that this wasn’t some fever dream. 

It wasn’t every day that a beautiful man emerged from nowhere and showed interest in Jack. It was a wonderful turn of fate and knowing that the interest was mutual added another layer to his excitement. They migrated to the fire, carrying folding chairs. Jack sipped his beer between asking Brock about his past and present. He got the dirty details of propane delivery and he had a renewed sense of appreciation for his own delivery guy though he only used it to cook. He used woodheat. Brock was installing a pellet stove on Sunday. Jack was still nervous about tomorrow already plotting out his cleaning course. His house wasn’t filthy but it certainly could use a scrub, especially if someone was coming over that he wanted to impress. The flames lit up Brock’s eyes and Jack found himself wondering how many broken hearts were his wake. There was no way that anyone could look into those pools of melted caramel and not fall in love. But Jack didn’t want to think about what Brock had been to others, didn’t want to think about the possible fall out should they not work out. Jack wanted to drown in those eyes and forget everything else. 

It was like the world was standing still as he looked at him; he’d never been so affected by someone before and it was world altering. He ignored how smug Natasha was, sitting on Clint’s lap with a Twisted Tea, shamelessly eavesdropping while Steve, Bucky and Clint made plans to go fishing at the pond behind Steve and Bucky’s cabin. The bass they’d stocked it with were surely big enough to be a good supper apparently. Jack was a hunter, not a fisher. He didn’t have the patience to sit and wait for a bite. Tracking prey was another world all together. Brock told him about the Saint Bernard puppy he was getting in a few weeks and Jack shared he had a cat. Brock was clearly a dog person by the look on his face and Jack couldn’t help but laugh. Brock’s face lit up. 

“I like your laugh.” 

Blood pooled in Jack’s cheeks and he quickly took a drink of his beer to hide his embarrassment. He couldn’t believe he’d be so bashful of compliments at his age but here he was, twenty five years old and flushing like a teenager with their first crush. It didn’t feel like a crush. It was more intense. Jack didn’t think there was a word for it; for falling blindly in love on sight alone and falling deeper the more he learned about him. The party wrapped up at midnight and Brock and Jack exchanged phone numbers. 

They stood by Brock’s truck, Jack rubbed his palms against his jeans nervously. “It was great to meet you,” Brock said and as Jack gazed into his honey eyes he was lost. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?” 

“Tomorrow night.” Jack would agree to anything that Brock asked. He was powerless not to. 

“Good, tomorrow then.” 

Brock got up on his tip toes and pressed a searing kiss to Jack’s cheek before he climbed into the cab and started the truck. Jack was rooted in place for a moment, hand hovering over the spot where Brock had placed his lips. He realized that Brock wasn’t going to pull out until he moved so he flushed and hastened out of the way and crossed the clearing to help pack up the grill into the bed of Bucky’s truck. Natasha was leaning against her 4X4 with a coy smile on her face. The fire was being doused out and all the light was coming from the car light they’d turned on. 

“I knew he’d be perfect for you.” 

Jack rolled his eyes but thanked her anyway. “I really appreciate it, Natasha.” 

“Don’t mention it. I just don’t want you alone forever. God knows you never would have made a move tonight if Brock hadn’t.” Natasha hoisted up the cooler and slid it into the truck and closed the hatch. “Alright, I gotta be back into work at eight. Get some rest, you’ve got a big date tomorrow. And I expect to hear about it.” 

“Of course you do.” Jack said with another eye roll, thought his one was much more fond than the first one. “I’ll call you after.” 

“I’m holding you to that, Rollins.” 

“Oh don’t I know it.” 

Jack climbed into his own truck and joined the line heading out, mind churning over possibilities for tomorrow and cheek still tingling from the kiss.

** ** ** ** 

Jack’s little two bedroom house was in better shape than it had been since he moved in. He’d moved all clutter out of the way, polished and wiped down every surface so not even dust remained. He rooted through his cupboards, fridge and freezer to ensure that nothing out of date or mostly depleted remained. He wanted to make a good impression and this was the logical first step. 

Next came deciding what to wear. Brock had texted that he’d be over at five thirty so they could eat at six thirty. He was bringing all the groceries despite Jack’s objections. He claimed he would have held the date at his home but currently he was eating off a stool and a card table and that would have ‘ruined the effect’. Jack wasn’t certain what that meant but he thought it was a positive so he didn’t linger long on it. 

Currently Jack was standing in front of his wardrobe realizing just how little formal wear he had. Most of his clothing was stained with oil and grease save for his Sunday best which he wore every Easter and Christmas, the only real times he visited church. It was more of an obligation than anything else. But he feared he would be overdressed as he stepped into black slacks and a crisp white shirt. He chose to leave the blazer where it was -- that would have been a step too far in formality. He made his way down the steps, nervously tidying and re-tidying as he waited for Brock to arrive. 

He did at five thirty sharp, punctual, and Jack yanked open the door, face already flushed. Brock was wearing a dark button up and a pair of dark jeans. “Hey,” Brock leaned in and kissed his cheek again, same place and Jack’s face burned and a dopey smile spread across his face that he couldn’t control. “I hope you like Italian.” 

“I do.” 

“Good, I thought I’d make you some pasta al con pomodoro e basilico.” Brock set a paper bag on the counter and began to take out items. 

“Can I help?” 

“I said I was cooking,” Brock reminded him. “Tell me more about yourself.” 

So Jack ended up spending an hour talking about himself while Brock cooked. He washed and deseeded tomatoes. He put garlic and chili flakes from Jack’s cupboard into the pan and as the smell was starting to fill the kitchen he added the tomatoes, mushing them up with the wooden spoon to form a sauce. He chopped basil and put the pasta in to boil. He served up the pasta and began to grate parmesan and something orange over the top of it. 

“What’s that?” Jack asked, breaking from talking about himself. It was a relief to no longer have to discuss himself, he was more eager to hear about Brock. 

“Bottarga.” 

“Sorry?” 

“It’s a gray mullet’s roe sac.” 

Jack withdrew a bit and Brock let out a bark of a laugh. “It’s good, I promise,” he assured him. 

He put his plate in front of him with a glass of Bardolino. Despite Jack’s hesitance about the roe sac the dish was delicious and Brock shared he learned how to cook it in Italy when he was a teenager visiting his nonna. He glossed over his childhood in a way that seemed intentional so Jack didn’t push. Brock talked about boxing and the gym he used to frequent. 

“Only downside of living ‘round here is there aren’t any gyms.” Brock said wistfully. “But I bought some gym equipment I’m going to put in the room with the picture windows.” 

“That sounds nice.” 

Brock hummed in agreement, sipping his wine. As they finished their meal Jack wished he’d brought dessert so he could stay longer. He was completely enraptured with him. Jack suggested seeing the progress some time, hedging the chances for a second date, and Brock agreed immediately. 

“I want to see you again,” Brock said as he was walking Brock out to his truck. “Is that okay?” 

“Better than okay,” Jack said honestly. 

This time when Brock raised himself up onto his toes he kissed his lips. It was a short kiss that tasted like basil and marasca cherries. It was perfect in every way and Jack’s head swam. He was drunk on Brock Rumlow and he knew it was a sensation he would have to adjust to. It was the incandescent effect Brock had on him. But he was going to love every single second of it as long as he could call Brock his.


End file.
